


iconoclast

by candybank



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Power Struggle, iykwim........, king claude and emperor edelgard are canonically at war but uncanonically secretly hooking up, smut kind of ??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candybank/pseuds/candybank
Summary: every touch sets off a landmine. every kiss another cannon deployed. years and years of studying war tactics and battle strategy should have prepared her for this — but alone with him in the middle of the battlefield, all she has is her quick wit and a death wish.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Claude von Riegan, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	iconoclast

**Author's Note:**

> i have once again set myself up by liking a rarepair 🚶anyway if edelclaude are ooc at any point or for the entire thing thats because im very bad at characterization but they r hot so its ok :)

the first time it happens, it’s a mistake. a _lapse in judgment_ — not that either of them are particularly prone to _those,_ but they _pretend_ because they’re both very good at _that_.

the second time — eight long, agonizing months and three bitter battles later — is over so quickly that they don’t even bother pretending it didn’t happen. it’s such a tiny smudge in the face of their secret, and soon-sordid, history that it makes edelgard laugh a little.

“. . . what?” claude asks with a parroted chuckle as he shrugs on the Imperial-red robe folded at the foot of the bed. no point to it but to amuse himself. 

“nothing,” edelgard can’t help chuckling again, and it’s obvious she tried not to because she bites her lip now as she pulls the thin string-strap of her glittering white underdress over one slender shoulder. 

claude thinks her flushed face and tousled white hair beautiful, her soft laughing voice gentle. still, he’s not single-minded; he doesn’t forget the gold headpiece laying atop the table across the spacious guest room, a gaudy and tyrannical reminder of the thousands upon thousands of dead bodies her soft pale hands have buried under the pristine floorboards that keep the castle standing. from the corner of his eye, he sees the moonlight catching in the bright red gem, and remembers, amused, how she’d come here under the pretense of an emperor checking on her honored guest, not as a lover with a dark secret.

the memory prompts him forward, back onto the bed. the goose-feather mattress dips under the weight of his knee. edelgard ignores it, ignores him as he wraps strong, solid arms around her from behind.

“what?” he asks again, in a deep whisper that tickles her ear this time.

edelgard sees no harm in telling him, and so she does. “you finished so quickly,” she says, leaning back into him a little.

he replies with a pause and lips to her neck. the way it feels, she thinks he might as well have sunk his teeth into her skin and torn her throat out. she swallows at the thought — the _possibility._

every second with him is dangerous, so this isn’t a loving gesture. barely even intimate. neither particularly religious, but even to them nothing about this is sacred. she turns her head and he cranes his neck to kiss her. she breathes him in — earth and sky. edelgard sighs into claude’s mouth and rests her bones against his; lets herself think that there’s something satisfying about how well they fit together. she doesn’t mean anything by it, of course — it’s just that she can never let her mind idle.

she musters the energy to lift her arm, tangle her fingers in his hair and pull him into another kiss when he starts to pull away — a generous helping of a wanting “ _no—_ “ breathed against his chin. he laughs a little into the ensuing kiss, as if the word had tickled. she doesn’t mind that he laughs at her. in fact, she cares so little about what he thinks that she lets it happen again.

sixth, seventh. mongers of history, they both keep count. 

“you look good in red,” she says once. where he’d been revving for seconds, his mood suddenly turns sour. he pulls on his heavy yellow coat instead of staying back a while to lounge and talk about nothing, like they usually do.

if she wasn’t so carefully inexpressive, her eyes might have gone wide in question. if she was any more curious, or felt even an ounce of affection for him, maybe she would have asked. _did i say something to upset you? did i say something wrong?_ but as it stands, her face remains ever stoic. and she only looks on as his scars disappear under layers and layers of his trademark tacky yellow.

claude knows her well enough now to recognize this secret language she speaks. it’s not a tongue he knows — only tasted. he gives her a small grin instead of an answer, as if a thoughtful gift wrapped in silver lace and gold paper. “washes me out,” he says, already by the door. he gives the cavernous room one last glance, knowing this to be his first visit to the Emperor's chambers and wondering if it’ll be his last. everything’s too red, too _regal_. “i like your bedroom,” he says, lying much easier to him than breathing ever was, “live to see mine, okay?”

the twentieth. the twenty-third.

“you know these meetings amount to nothing, right? i feel it’s my _duty_ to tell you,“ lorenz has finally stopped holding his tongue. he’s seeing claude and his small entourage off, looking as if he’d rather be poring over a war table than assisting another failed attempt at diplomacy, “she’s never going to allow the alliance to exist.”

claude mounts a wyvern with a smile. lorenz squints, unable to decipher the look on his face. “you do your duties well, lorenz. we’d be lost without you. truly,” he says gratefully, steely, before disappearing into the sun.

the twenty-ninth. the thirtieth.

edelgard leans in for a kiss, and for the first time ever, claude leans away. edelgard flushes red, unable to keep her eyes from growing wide in complete shock. claude _relishes_ her surprise for the complete half-second it takes her to school her face back into indifference.

“ _you said we’d stop at thirty,_ ” he whispers into the scant space between them. his voice is low and soft, and it’s a cool autumn night, but he sounds as annoying and shrill as a cuckoo clock screeching at noon. his rejection nails-on-a-chalkboard to her ears.

she doesn’t try to pretend that she hasn’t been keeping count. before she can even _think_ to start feigning innocence — or even more unbelievably, miscalculation — she knows he has already caught her. she knows that he knows her well enough. 

and she will admit that she hasn’t been paying enough attention to him to know him too, but it doesn’t matter; she knows men. the war has taught her a great deal about them. men want so many things — power, wealth, and glory — but they never seem to want anything as much as _this_.

edelgard leans back but doesn’t lean away. she looks down at her feet, eyelashes fluttering. claude tries to anticipate her next move, but he _can’t,_ and it unnerves him. excites him, _scares_ him. will she pull out dimitri’s little blade from the deep pockets of her bloodred cloak and kill him? will she try once again to kiss him?

men want so many things — senseless death, blood and war — but they never seem to want anything as much as _vulnerability_. 

wordlessly, almost as if without motion, she tugs off her cloak and her silver nightgown. in a dizzying flurry of red and white, now all he sees her in is just skin. soft, supple, porcelain skin. somehow unscarred, somehow unscathed. where cuts and bruises and memories of yesterday’s battles litter his body, she has somehow found a way to remain immaculate.

of course, he has seen her enough times to know this — exactly thirty times, in fact — but he sees her now as if for the first time. his breath catches in his throat; he feels suffocated, _choked_. her fingers around his neck even as they lay on her sides.

edelgard tears down all her defenses, and claude doesn't know what to do with that.

she lets a small smile slip. he knows she’s _gloating._

though not yet proficient in speaking it, he has learned to read her secret language. 

the smile tugs sideways. a grin, a _smirk_ . he can’t remember ever having seen her so smug. his senses feel dulled. when she takes half a step closer towards him, he almost squirms with how uncomfortable he is; with how hot his hands burn, his neck, his chest, his head — he _burns_ , and all of him _for her._

she lays a cold hand on his chest; he feels as if he has been kissed by fire. he is the most brilliant general of their generation, and so he knows this battle is now lost. a _strategic retreat_ , he takes her into his arms and kisses her. 

still, he’s not one to throw away the war. he tries to win the ensuing battles. pinned wrists and swollen lips and thighs held over his shoulders. claude gets his bearings and every next move from then on is deliberate. every push is met with a pull.

first: the gambit — he appears routed. he waits for the tension to leave her shoulders, waits for overconfidence to settle like cement. then: the rally — he _charges_. he’s driven by something more than carnal desire now, something he knows even better than the back of his hand — he’s driven now by the _game_ , and it excites him.

edelgard, surprised by the sudden rush, finds herself locked in a struggle with him. more and more, her bed is beginning to look like a battlefield. she finds herself needing to _think_.

every touch sets off a landmine. every kiss another cannon deployed. she doesn’t want to play a losing game, and so she has to pay close attention to where she puts her hands, her lips; when to reject a kiss, when to keen into his touch. years and years of studying war tactics and battle strategy should have prepared her for this, but he has somehow led her into unfamiliar territory on her very own land. it’s unprecedented; she was already naked, but now she feels bare.

no compass, no crests. she’s starting to think that maybe she charged too soon. although the surprise on his face seemed genuine, maybe she had underestimated him; but, there’s no time to think about it now that they’re in the throes of _war_. alone in the middle of the battlefield with just him, all she has is her quick wit and a death wish.

sensation after sensation washes over her like waves from the angry sea, from the patient fire. she pays careful attention to when she needs to let her burning lungs drown her, when she needs to offer herself up as kindling to the flame; when she needs to force the ocean down his throat, when she needs to take a breath of air.

he tugs and she scratches and he steals and she takes. maybe this is what happens when an Emperor meets a King — they try to claim each other like a _right_. she’s merciless and he’s unforgiving. she’s persistent and he’s unyielding. it’s too soon when it comes. the end, the brilliant white.

neither believe in any one god, but even they know this to be sacrilege.

then, the smoke clears. the fires stop raging. the dust settles, and all that’s left to do is look at the mess they’ve made. the adrenaline stops rushing, and claude can feel his heartbeat in his ears. every bone in his body is worn, but already he can feel himself wounding tight again.

he laughs to himself, and resists trying to move; he thinks his knees might have turned to jelly. besides, the bed of the Emperor is very comfortable.

“let me sleep here tonight,” he says.

edelgard studies his face and finds no malice, but still she knows better than to agree. she pauses a moment — long enough to make claude look at her.

“you should head home now,” she says quietly, “if you wish to make it.”

she blinks, and claude can read her well enough.

he whistles as he pushes himself up to sit. “well, look at you,” he says, leaning back against the headboard, “Emperor Edelgard fighting dirty.”

“whatever do you mean?” she answers too quickly, “this plan has been in motion for months.”

her voice is steady, meant to signal sureness only found in honesty. he only smiles in reply. edelgard glances at him quickly, unable to read the pensive look on his face. he’s always thinking, and she never really knows what about; always runs out of time before she can figure it out.

a moment of silence, the both of them running in circles around their own heads. claude barely notices edelgard leave the bed and disappear into the adjoining study. she returns a moment later with an ornate gold container on a gold tray. edelgard sets the tray down on the bed and climbs back under the covers with him. she sits closer now. claude’s suspicions are confirmed when she lifts the weighty lid to reveal a familiar white powder filling it up halfway.

claude mutes his surprise when she takes out a small golden spoon, scoops out a tiny heap of the stuff, then brings it up under her nose. she’s like a magician, claude thinks, the way she makes the the substance disappear with a graceful, practiced flourish.

if only because the entire thing is so terribly amusing, he dips a fingertip into the jar and lightly brushes his teeth with it. edelgard seems satisfied.

claude thinks for a moment more. “it’s too much bloodshed, el,” he says after a while, still pondering. it’s clear that he has resolved the matter of her oncoming ambush and has moved on to other matters. his voice has taken a kind of seriousness. his breathing has evened, and blood has begun pumping back into his brain.

“it will be worth it,” she tells him. the raw honesty in her voice lets him know that she truly believes what she’s saying. he looks at her with knitted brows. she almost wants to reach out and smooth the creases marring his handsome face.

but all she does is move her hand a few inches; her fingers rest over his under the warm weight of her bed covers. 

“i have thought about this thoroughly—you _know_ i have. i would never do anything without purpose, claude,” she says, almost as if pleading her case; trying to find words for the indescribable, “this is not senseless violence like...dimitri’s attacks on the innocent citizens of the Empire, or even his merciless killing of the thieves at Garreg Mach.

this…all of this is for a reason, a _belief_ . . . i know our beliefs are not very different. we don’t believe in _her_.”

edelgard speaks as if her word is law — claude supposes it’s because she has the perseverance to hammer her opinions against the wall until they become truths. if anything, it’s admirable; he almost thinks he understands her.

but the breeze is cold against his bare chest and he hates thinking in bed. he’d prefer to think of this tomorrow, pore over it with some parchment and ink in front of him and maybe a couple of his trusted generals. he’s shocked to discover that after so much time, he still doesn’t know what to do about the war.

“rule with me,” edelgard says suddenly, pulling claude right out of his thoughts.

“marry me,” she clarifies, as if it’s so _simple_ and _obvious_. “our union will _ensure_ fodlan’s unification. then we can rebuild . . . _then_ focus on other ventures. 

we’re stronger together, after all. the professor taught us that much.”

he stares at her, studies her. the look on her face, the tone of her voice, the very words she’s saying. it confirms what he already knows — that she’s intelligent, smart, and calculating. her timing is perfect, and her wits are sharp. 

but none of it really matters, because the important truth is: he can’t deny that it’s a _smart move_.

another breeze blows in through the window. claude scoops out a small heap of powder white, spreads it in a thin line across the back of his hand, then inhales deeply. he squeezes the tip of his nose between his fingers. edelgard only watches him.

“we will be like this every night. we will never have to hide,” she says with a conviction claude is certain only edelgard is capable of conjuring.

he smiles, feeling the pull of a kiss but withholding a response. “isn’t that what makes this so fun, though?” he grins, but edelgard doesn’t return his playfulness.

“i’ll request an audience with you. we’ll talk about this,” he says affirmatively, then seriousness dropping quickly, “while the sun is out. fully clothed, and sober.”

“with hubert watching no doubt,” edelgard says — the small smile that follows signals a _joke_. claude laughs.

“are you into that, _el_?” he asks deviously. edelgard shakes her head profusely, the tips of her ears pink.

“absolutely not,” she says — but in a surprising turn of events, it’s unconvincing. he laughs louder.

“not so loud,” she shushes him, putting a hand over his chest. without thinking, he seizes her wrist and pulls her on top of him. it’s far too easy; she weighs less than a feather.

edelgard can’t help the laugh that spills out of her, the slight tickle of his hair and his face in between her breasts; on her neck, her shoulders.

“no more talking,” he commands, pleads, kissing her fervently.

she pauses suddenly, pressing a hand to his chest. “are you really not heading home?” she asks. he listens well, for malice or triumph or any trace of anything in her voice, but all he picks up on is curiosity.

“i was hoping _your highness_ would hold off the attack until we got the chance to talk about. . .” he trails off deliberately. pauses intentionally.

edelgard lets the pause run on. “very well,” she finally says, not seeming particularly pleased or displeased. she kisses him, and so he stops thinking about it.

claude falls into a restful sleep on the Emperor’s bed that night, their fingers loosely intertwined under the covers. edelgard doesn’t close her eyes, barely even blinks — only watches the man beside her and the wyvern moon flying high in the sky, bright and unafraid.

**Author's Note:**

> yes yes edelgard independent milf who dont need no man but also edelclaude sexy im sorry this is so bad i just needed to get this out of me


End file.
